“Bye! Thanks for the cookies.”
With a final nod, he leaves. My eyes follow his movements as he gets into his van and drives down the street. I finally move when the bumper is no longer visible, setting the cookies on the reception desk. Patrick takes a few more, practically inhaling them. I want to scold him for not savoring them and appreciating the flavors.
“Weird guy, but nice. Good baker. I think he has a thing for you.”
“Yeah… wait, what? He doesnothave a thing for me.”
“Who’s got a thing for Mikey? A customer? Ya said yes to a date, right?” Merv’s gruff voice barks, and the shop door slams open. I swear he has better hearing than me, even though he’s almost fifty years my senior. “Oooo, cookies. Mikey, you didn’t bake them, right?”
“No, Merv. They’re from a customer.” I burn one birthday cake and he won’t let me live it down. “One who doesnothave a thing for me.”
He takes a bite of his cookie, inspecting it like he’s the judge on a baking show before he gives a final nod of approval. “Well, that customer’s welcome back anytime if they bring in stuff likethis. Maybe we can convince them to make a pineapple upside down cake next.”
I want to say we won’t see him ever again, but for some reason the words won’t come out. They feel like a lie.
This wasn’t the last time I’m going to see Saint Valentine, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
3
August
My hands are slick with sweat where they’re gripping the steering wheel—andnotfrom the summer heat.
I’m nervous.I’ve been a wreck all day thinking about seeing my girl again. Well, she’s notmine.Not yet anyway, but hopefully someday.
If I can ever work up the nerve to ask her out. I’m not generally a nervous guy, but I am when I’m around her. Every time she’s in my presence, my tongue gets all tied up, and I forget everything I planned to say.
I was going to ask her out in May. I expected it would take longer for her to figure out the gas cap problem, so I hadn’t finished psyching myself up to ask her on a date or for her number when she came back. I got all flustered because her intuition and problem solving was so attractive, then Patrick was there, and it would have been weird to ask her out with him around.
My brain went blank when she tasted my cookies and let out that little moan. Apparently nothing turns me on quite like Mikey appreciating my baking.
I’ve made a batch of those cookies every week since—they’re now one of the best sellers at the bakery—while working up the nerve to come back to the shop and ask her out.
When I left the shop in February, I was determined to go back and ask her out the next week, but I didn’t want to come off too strong or creepy. I didn’t want to seem like I was stalking her, so I came up with a plan.
A plan that is, in hindsight, a little bizarre. But I can’t let her slip away if she’s meant to be the love of my life. I’ll ask her out today. I don’t know if she’ll say yes, but I have to try.
I hope I don’t clam up again.
I pull over about a mile from the shop and follow the directions Slater reluctantly gave me. He said he’d rather help me than have me damage my van beyond repair, even if he thinks my plan is absolutely insane and I need to see someone for therapy. What’s a little insanity when true love is on the line?
I open the hood and locate the little black box Slater told me holds the fuses. Once I find the u-shaped prong thingy, I pull it out and put it in a bottle of water. I shake it up, then take it out and put it back where I found it. When that’s done I get back in the van and head over to the shop.
There are more people here than there have been during my previous visits, so I hope she has time. I’m prepared to wait all day if I need to, but I don’t want to overwork her.
When I walk into the lobby, Patrick and Mikey are nowhere to be found. Just an older gentleman with gray hair and a handlebar mustache sitting at the front desk.
“Be right with ya,” he hollers before going back to his phone conversation.
I stand a couple of feet away from the desk, not wanting to eavesdrop while he finishes his call. There are only a few empty seats in the waiting room. Two are occupied by a little girl and who I assume is her mother. She looks to be around four, scribbling in a coloring book. Another chair is taken by a man wearing a polo and khakis, tapping furiously on his phone, and another two are occupied by a couple holding hands and whispering quietly to each other.
A smile tips my lips. They look good together. I can tell they’re deeply in love, and my heart wants to burst. I love when a couple is so in love they have to be touching each other at all times. I love when it’s obvious they’re two halves of one whole.
“Sorry ‘bout that. What can I do for ya?” the man at the front desk asks. He’s wearing a navy blue and gray work shirt with “Merv” embroidered on the chest. This must be the shop’s owner.
Remembering what Slater told me to describe, I explain, “My van started lurching, and it feels like my gas pedal isn’t giving it any gas. I have to make it over the mountain today and don’t want to risk breaking down halfway. I was hoping Mikey had time to take a look? She’s worked on my van before.”
Merv hums, squinting his brown eyes at me. “What’d ya say your name is?”
